Fixed in Fear (25 page)

“In a manner of speaking,” Auggie said. “One day I'm sitting there on my lunch break. Guy comes up to me. I seen him on a couple of jobs. He's got ink. Arms, face. I recognize some of the designs. He's been inside.”

“This guy have a name?” Rita wanted to know.

Apuzzo shook his head. “This guy is the kind of guy who doesn't say. The kind of guy you know better than to ask. You know the type?”

Rita assured him she did.

“Anyways, this guy sits next to me. He says nothing till I finish my tuna salad sandwich. Then he says we should take a walk. Like I said, he's that kind of guy. So we take a stroll. After we're out of earshot from the rest of the crew, he asks me if I'm interested in a side job. Tells me it pays big. I ask him how much, he tells me, and I said hell yeah, I'm interested.”

“What was your payday?” Mort asked.

A fleeting look of embarrassment crossed Auggie's face. “Twenty grand. Cash.”

Four thousand per dead soul.
How cheap life is on this guy's side of the tracks.

“And you understood that for that sum of money the work would be illegal,” Rita said.

“I knew. But like I said, it's hard for guys like me to make it outside. And I got a kid and all.”

Who saw less than 10 percent of what you were willing to take in exchange for killing five people.

“Guy tells me, good. He's glad to hear it. Says he's gonna get back to me with the details. Next day, same thing. Sits next to me at lunch. I finish up my sandwich. Egg salad this time. We take a walk. Only this time when we're away from the other fellas, he pulls out his phone and calls somebody. Says a few words, hands me the phone, and there's this guy on the other end. Gets right down to business. Tells me I'm going to be supplied with another phone. One that's preprogrammed or some shit so all's I gotta do is press number one and it dials straight through to him. Tells me the target's name. Carlton Smydon.” Auggie bobbed his head. “Imagine my surprise when I get to the lodge and find out Carlton Smydon is some black guy. I mean, LeRoy or Antoine, I get that. But Carlton? On top of that he's got the same name as I see on all those fish trucks running up and down the highway day and night. Who made him for a black guy? Not me, that's for sure.”

“Who arranged for the murders to occur at Tall Oaks Lodge?” Rita asked.

“That was this guy I'm telling you about. He set the whole thing up. Knew when the target was going to be there. Told me he'd signed me up for the same sweat lodge as the guy who was going down. Said I should kill everyone in the ceremony. So's no one would know who the target really was.” Auggie shook his head in disbelief. “No way I'm doing that on my own. One guy against a tent full of sweaty people. I told him I'm gonna need some help. He tells me I'm on my own to find the other guy.” Auggie's voice shifted into disgust. “That's when I got hold of Jerry. Shows how loyal some people can be, huh? Dirty piece of shit.”

“So the two of you went to Tall Oaks together?” Rita was doing a fine job of keeping Apuzzo on task. “Did you rehearse the murders at all? Determine between the two of you who would do what?”

Auggie's face twisted into a mask of disbelief. “Rehearse? Rehearse? Lady, it was slash and grab. The only thing we talked about was what the kickoff was gonna be. I was to hand the target the phone just before we made our move. The guy had texted some message he wanted me to have called up on the screen. The soon-to-be-dead guy was supposed to read it before the deal went down.”

“What did the message say?”

“I forget,” Apuzzo said. “Something, something, something. The target seemed to know what it meant, though.”

“Carlton knew he was about to die?”

Apuzzo nodded.

“What did he do?” Rita asked.

Apuzzo looked ashamed for the first time. “He apologized. To everyone in that tent. He took the blame for their deaths.” The room was quiet for several seconds. “Then me and Jerry got busy. When it was all over, I took a picture of the target's body. Just like the guy paying me told me to. Pressed number one and sent it to him. He texted back I should toss the phone in the fire and walk away.”

Mort tried to take it all in. Someone wanted Carlton to know he was about to die. Carlton didn't fight it. He didn't warn the others. He accepted his fate and his responsibility for the deaths of the others.
What the hell is going on?

“Next day I show up for work like nothing's different in my life,” Auggie continued. “The guy sitting next to me at lunch takes me for one last stroll. Hands me a fat envelope, I get paid, and that was that.”

“You never found out who the man on the other end of the line was?” Rita asked. “The man who wanted Carlton dead?”

“He wasn't about to tell me. Would you if you was in his shoes?” Auggie looked at her like she just fell off the turnip truck.

“This is an interesting story, Auggie,” Mort remarked. “But that's all it is….No judge is going to consider doing you any favors unless you give up the name of the man who hired you. Since you can't do that, this little yarn of yours belongs nowhere other than the fairy-tale section.”

“I'd say it belongs in the…in the…whatever section it is that's the God's honest truth section.”

Mort felt a glimmer of hope tug at his gut. “Why's that?”

Auggie grinned like a man who'd just drawn to an inside straight. “Because I still got the phone.”

Mort hadn't taken her call. Lydia glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine o'clock. Allie had expected Lydia to call her two hours ago with the time and place of her Sunday family brunch.

It must be nice, in some perverted way, to have the kind of confidence Allie has,
Lydia thought.
To assume whatever you say is going to happen will. What a wonderful way to walk through the world.

But Lydia understood there was a near-psychotic aspect to Allie's supreme confidence. While Allie surely wielded some level of power over certain members of whatever criminal organization she was involved with, she'd never be able to control every person she encountered.

She can't control her father. And I'll not allow her to control me.

Lydia knew she didn't believe that, even as the thought drifted into her mind. Of course Allie could control her. Allie understood the enormity of the debt Lydia owed Mort Grant. Because of him she was free. He'd announced to the world The Fixer was dead, leading everyone to assume Savannah Samuels was The Fixer, the assassin who had taken her own life. Lydia could live the rest of her days without the threat of discovery. Allie also understood it meant nothing to Lydia to be exposed. Whatever the consequences, she'd deal with it as a deserved sentence for the decisions she'd made. It was Allie's promise to expose Mort as the man who'd deliberately obstructed justice in order to let Lydia walk away that gave her control over Lydia. She could never let anything happen to Mort. Not after all he'd done for her.

He's the only man in my life who never wanted anything from me.

Lydia had to warn Mort of Allie's threat. It needed to be his decision how to proceed. He was the one with everything to lose. Whatever path he chose, Lydia would support it. If he opted to not bow to Allie's threats, she'd find a way to convince a judge and jury that Mort kept his silence only out of fear for the life of his family. Lydia would swear in open court she had orchestrated the cover-up herself. It wouldn't be hard for anyone to believe that a woman with so much blood on her hands, an admitted international assassin, would threaten Mort's children and grandchildren with a torturous death if he failed to go along with her plan.

And if Mort decided it was best to pretend to welcome Allie back into the family fold, she'd support that, too. She'd make it the priority of her life to monitor Allie and keep everyone Mort loved as safe as they could be while in the presence of Allie.

Or I could just handle this myself.

She remembered how it felt to stand next to Eddie Dirkin. The power. To know she could end his life, and by extension bring peace to Ann Louise Chait and her son. It felt so right. So natural. As though she was walking the path the Universe had designed her for.

No one knows where Allie is. I could make sure she never poses a threat to Mort, his family, or anyone else anywhere, ever again.

Lydia's mind raced with several different scenarios for making the fix happen in such a way there'd be no trace leading back to her.

She felt energized. A clarity of attention snapped her mind into hyper-focus. There was not a shred of doubt. She could do this. She could save Mort and his family from any danger Allie presented now. She could guarantee they'd be safe from Allie forever.

Her body felt lighter. She inhaled a deep calming breath, and every sense seemed to be heightened. She looked around her living room. Every object appeared in high-def relief. Even the muscles of her arms and legs hummed with anticipatory joy.

I can do this. Yes. This is what needs to be done, and I am the only one who can do it. I can give Mort the gift he'd never dare to wish for.

She looked again at the clock. Nine forty-five. Nearly three hours past Allie's deadline.

“Like they say, no good deed goes unpunished.”

The onsite property manager stuck her cigarette into the corner of her mouth and shoved a master key into the door of Auggie Apuzzo's apartment. “I got a soft spot in my heart for ex-cons, you might say. I married my Sammy knowing he did a stretch for passing bad paper. Thirty-nine years we was married before the cancer took him. That man never so much as jaywalked after he got out.” She pushed the door open, flipped the light switch, and stood in the doorframe, blocking anyone's entry. “So when his PO asks if I got a room for one of his guys, I say ‘You vouching for him?' Guy says yes and I give 'em the room.” Jeannie Garfield shook her head. Tight gray ringlets drifted around a face covered with wrinkled-bedsheet skin.

“Like I say, I got a soft heart. But this guy rubs me the wrong way from day one. Slick, he is. Like he's always peddling something. Well, let me tell you, I ain't buying any of his shit. I tell him keep the place clean. Look at this hellhole.” She waved toward the interior of the one-room efficiency. “Next thing I expect is rats, is what I expect.” Jeannie looked up at Mort. “What's that warrant saying you're looking for, anyway? It better not be dope. I tell all my tenants this is a dope-free building.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and talked while she exhaled a rancid cloud of gray air. “I'll put up with a lot of shit, but when it comes to drugs I draw the line. It's dope, isn't it?” She looked hopeful.

Mort tucked the search warrant into his jacket. “Actually, ma'am, we have Auggie's permission to be here. You might say he's sent us to retrieve something for him. The warrant's just to make sure we had no trouble gaining access.” He pulled two pairs of plastic gloves out of another pocket, handed one set to Rita, and slipped into the other.

The property manager squinted her eyes as though trying to imagine what would send a Seattle police detective on a go-and-fetch errand for a lowlife like Auggie Apuzzo. She turned to Rita.

“You look more like a dancer. You sure you're a cop?”

Rita pulled her badge out for Jeannie to examine for the second time that night. “Eighteen years on the force, ma'am. Wouldn't want any other line of work.”

Jeannie nodded. “I guess we all gotta do our own thing. But I look like you? I'm seeking some kind of employment that makes the most of my assets, know what I mean?” She slapped a hand on her fleshy hip. “Don't look like it now, but I once had a body like yours. Tight and right. And you better believe I made the most of it. Use it while you can, sister. Them tits don't stay up where they belong forever.” She chuckled.

Mort squirmed at the advice. “We won't be long. Auggie gave us good details where to find what we're after. If you could just step aside…”

Jeannie seemed disappointed. Mort figured their arrival was the most fun Jeannie'd had on a Friday night since her Sammy died.

“You don't mind I stay while you get what you come for, do you?” she asked. “And what's holding Auggie up? Why he can't come get what he needs hisself?”

Mort stepped over a stack of
Penthouse
magazines and around two heaps of clothes. He was headed for the one closet in the room.

“Mr. Apuzzo's been detained,” Rita explained. She pointed to the food-encrusted plate on the pillow of Auggie's unmade bed. A half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black was propped in the blankets. “You might want to clean that up. I'm afraid by the time Mr. Apuzzo gets back you might get that rat problem you spoke about earlier.”

“In other words, he's going up the river.” Jeannie clicked her tongue in disgust. Then she reached into the pocket of the blue gingham apron she wore, pulled out a fresh cigarette, and lit it off the butt of the one she was finishing. It bobbed in her mouth as she spoke. “And I guess I'm stuck for the two months' back rent he ain't never gonna be able to pay. Am I right?” Jeannie ground her spent cigarette into one of Auggie's many ashtrays.

“I'll have his PO get in touch with you. He can fill you in on the details. You have it?” Rita called out to Mort.

Mort shoved aside a heavy winter parka hanging from the closet's rod. He saw the green suitcase Auggie told him would be there. He moved that out of the way, and there was the Planters peanuts can Auggie described. Mort reached down to retrieve it and felt something wobble inside. He brought it over to Rita, peeled off the yellow plastic top, and pulled out the contents.

“That ain't dope.” Jeannie sounded like somebody let her down. “What the hell. Since when's a cop and her sidekick sent on a mission to pick up an ex-con's cellphone?”

Mort handed the phone to Rita with a smile. Rita pulled out an evidence bag and sealed the phone inside.

“Thanks, Jeannie.” Mort peeled off his gloves and offered his hand to the manager. “You've been a big help.”

“That's it?” Jeannie asked, still disappointed. “That's all you want? You're not gonna toss the place? There's dope here. I just know it.”

“I'll make sure to have Mr. Apuzzo's PO call you tomorrow.” Rita shook the woman's hand before heading toward the door. “Have a good evening.”

They left the frustrated woman standing in Auggie's apartment, spitting cigarette ash and complaining about the mess some people live with.

“Back to the station?” Rita asked as they buckled up in Mort's Subaru.

Before Mort could answer, his own cellphone rang. He glanced at the clock as he turned the key in the ignition. It was nearly eight thirty. If it was Lydia again, he'd have to call back. There was no way he wanted to have a conversation about Allie with Rita in the car. But the screen showed it wasn't Lydia.

“Hey, buddy. What's up?”

“Mort, can you come to my place. Now?” Larry's voice came over the car's speakers. He sounded shaken.

“Everything okay?” Mort glanced over to Rita.

“No. No, everything's most decidedly not okay. I don't know what to make of this.”

“Make of what?” Mort asked.

Larry didn't answer.

“Larry? What's wrong?” Mort knew his friend was never at a loss for words.

“Carlton's papers. I found something. Helen. Carlton…” Larry's voice trailed off, as if he didn't know what to say next.

“What is it, buddy?” Mort pressed.

“Just get over here, Mort. Right now, please. Maybe you can make sense of this.”

“Of what?”

Again several seconds passed before Larry spoke.

“Nothing is as it seems, Mort. Nothing at all.”